


Introit

by CastellanKurze (Kuja083), starcunning (Vannevar)



Series: Wolf and Doe [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Deathwatch - Freeform, Evangeline Khione, F/M, NSFW, Sister of Battle, Space Marines, Torin Firemane, Wolf and Doe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuja083/pseuds/CastellanKurze, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vannevar/pseuds/starcunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the shadow of a planetwide war, a Space Marine finds his will to continue doing the Emperor's work—and a spying Sororita.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introit

**Author's Note:**

> Some mild sizeplay, otherwise pretty vanilla.

> Drop down, ye heavens, from above,  
> And let the skies pour down righteousness:  
> Let the earth open and bring forth salvation.

Evening had fallen on Kienda, the sun drifting down past the horizon. The sky was ablaze in red and orange, hues deepened by the scatter of distant smoke. The museum was still burning. In an hour or two night would claim the city.

_Night—the time of darkness and fear, of predators and kills made in the shadow. The time of madness and terror._

Such were the thoughts of Torin Firemane as he stepped through the rubble-strewn streets of the city, though in truth his thoughts rested upon a different sort of night—a night symbolized by the winged cross and the fanged skull. The killers in the dark, who fed upon terror. The Night Lords. Once, they had been loyal men of the Legiones Astartes, even as had been Torin's forefathers upon Fenris. But the Night Lords had fallen into the abyss, which they had loved so well. And now Torin himself bore one of their weapons.

He could feel the weight of the Shadowclaw upon his right arm, its black gauntlet meshing seamlessly with the lacquer of black paint upon his armor. He flexed his fingers and the long killing blades of the weapon sensed the nerve impulse, twitching reflexively in their sheaths like the claws of a hunter scenting prey. More than steel and circuitry, though, he could feel the weight of centuries upon the weapon. It made the Space Wolf moody as he made his way through the edges of the Imperial holdings on Kienda: past the Valhallans, past the Scintillan armored division, past the new arrivals of the Argent Shroud.

Figures paused to regard him as he passed. Though he'd been upon Vengeance for some time now, the sight of an Astartes warrior was still enough to still a Guardsman's hands for a moment. Some of the Argent Shroud were no better, though the veteran Sisters hardly spared him a second glance.

As he continued on his way, his helm alerted him to nearby movement, registering human lifesigns as one of the Sororitas pressed herself back into an empty emplacement. As he came abreast of her, he paused, beaked helm turning in her direction, their golden lenses peering at her sidelong. No battle sister, that one, though she wore the Argent Shroud's colors: a white hood and cloak lined in crimson over a gown of dove grey. She froze under the force of his gaze, and then she curtseyed deeply, a curl of blonde hair spilling from beneath her hood. He nodded fractionally in her direction and moved on.

A moment later he heard footsteps at his back, timorous but graceful in their regularity, and he didn't need to glance back to scent incense on the air, nor to hear a soft tut of protest as he passed out of the bastion into the desolate streets. Still she followed where he lead, to the bombed-out shell of a church. The stonewrought building had been beautiful once, but the war had not left it without scars, caving in the painted ceiling and blowing out the colored glass of the windows. He paused on the front steps as he ascended, thinking of another staircase he had descended that day, another cultural building brutalized.

Torin Firemane wondered if the museum had been as thoroughly looted as the church before the keening mob had set it aflame. Both structures were soon to be husks of what they once were, picked over by carrion feeders that "rescued" the treasures of the Imperium. He approached the cracked altar, looming large over the slab built for mortal purposes. The Fenrisian did not bow, nor did he kneel, nor make any other sort of obeisance. Instead he shifted, lifting the clawed weapon. He held it outward, palm upturned, and after a moment he suddenly thrust it into the air. The scything claws came alive for a moment, lightning leaping between the tines, a sound of distant thunder echoing through the air in the same moment.

Without warning, the massive figure exploded into motion. The great claws of the power weapon whistled through the air as he spun, the Wolf shifting quickly between quick, sharp blows and wide, sweeping attacks, the claw rending the air around him. The weapon came to life, crackling with power and throwing strange shadows upon the walls—fractured silhouettes of the rubble strewn about in the church and the Space Marine's own body, sharp and hideous against the solid stone. They seemed to reach across the broken building with a will of their own. A blurt of heat, a roar of engines, and the Skyclaw's jump pack propelled him upward to somersault through the air with a grace that was ill-expected for such a hulking figure. He could smell ozone and heat-cracked stone and the faintest waft of incense and anxiety as he moved through the forms. Firemane had never used such a weapon as this before, yet the movements of the practice came to him as easily as the sword-drills he had practiced for a century and a half.

The Space Wolf's mind, however, was harried by images of death and horror. He knew that the machine spirit of the ancient Shadowclaw was interfacing with his equally ancient armor, and Torin wondered if the things he saw originated with the once-tainted weapon, or if his imagination were simply running away with him. He grit his teeth and bared his fangs beneath his helm, he spun, cutting down a dozen illusory foes with a single swipe of the claw. His lenses blinked the chartreuse of a friendly life-sign for a moment before he turned away again, his fingers curling into a fist as he swung the claw tines upward.

"Ye are not that creature any longer," he growled, voice echoing within his helm. "Ye are no longer that foul engine of death and destruction!" He continued in his drill, forcing his will upon the Shadowclaw. Free of taint it might have been, but the weapon was set in its ways and Torin Firemane demanded its obedience. "Ye were once a defender of humanity, even as I," the Space Wolf went on, the church around him a blur of shadows and shattered glass, the only sounds he heard the crackle of lightning, the whirr of his armor servos, the growl of his own voice.  
"Ye are that again. In fire and flame lies your true redemption," he told the weapon. "I will bind ye to me. I will have your loyalty. I, and all humanity!" He stood and raised the claw heavenward, reaching for the stars that had begun to emerge in the gloaming. As he did so, the image came unbidden into his mind of the wolfshead insignia of his chapter, and Torin Firemane bared his fangs in a savage smile, knowing instinctively that he had succeeded in binding the Shadowclaw to his own will.  With a great breath, the assault marine activated his external speakers and howled, the sound booming out into the night sky.  As he did so, the great claws flared once more, crackling for a brief moment before falling silent along with the marine, the sharp-edged shadows vanishing as silence fell.

His helm blinked in insistence, reminding him that he was not alone, and looking out upon the stillness he spied a slip of white trembling in the narthex, pale as a ghost, looking on him with awe. He stood there a moment looking at her, and saw the accusation in his lensed helm reflected in her wide eyes. He reached up, amber lights winking out as he removed his helm and approached her. His russet hair in its queue fell out over the neck of his armor, and he felt the beginnings of a crooked smile twitching upon his blunt features. Even his steps came easier and more lighthearted as he approached the Sororita.

She looked at him agog, her pretty mouth hanging open, but she did not quail under his gaze, nor turn and run from him, but he could hear her heartbeat and he knew the instinct was there.

"Did ye enjoy the show then, lass?" he asked as he came to stand before her.  
She lifted her hands and pulled her hood down, tipping her head back to look up at him. Her eyes were the blue-green of seawater and places half-remembered from his youth. "I'm very sorry!" she chirped out. Her voice was girlish, her cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson that falls only a little short of the carmine fleur-de-lys tattooed on her right cheek. She bowed her head, and he could see the intricate loops of white-blonde hair looped at the nape of her exposed neck.  
"I did not ask ye for an apology, lass," he told her, clipping his helm at his belt and reaching out with one armored finger. He touched her chin with surprising gentleness, tipping her head back. "Lift your eyes, I'd not have ye fearing me."

It seemed she had a long way to look up at him. Her gaze lingered on his inert helm for only a moment before her eyes swept up over the pitted expanse of his power armor.  
He nodded as her eyes met his, and he saw her throat work as she took in his countenance. He lowered his hand. "My name is Torin Firemane," he told her, elaborating, "Adeptus Astartes Space Wolves, lately of the Deathwatch. Who might ye be, lass?"  
Her lips bowed around some answer, but the sound didn't quite register, even to Astartes senses.  
His brows crept upward, service stud glittering with the motion, but Torin swallowed his glib remark and took pity on her, bending his left leg until he knelt before her so that she would no longer have to look so far up at him. "Is that better, then?" he prompted, still grinning.  
She glanced away then, as if shy of looking at him so closely, and folded her hands before her, wringing them loosely to stop from fidgeting. Rather than answer him aloud, she only nods, gaze cast down.  
"Yer name, then, lass," he said, and though his tone was firm the Space Wolf still smiled at her, his green eyes intent upon her face. She seemed so fragile as he looked upon her, cheeks still touched with pink.

The Sororita glanced upward, as though she'd hoped the Wolf had looked away already, but rather than meet his gaze she averted her eyes again, letting them rest upon the rosette bonded to his breastplate. Another murmur spilled from her lips, but this time he caught it: "Evangeline."  
"Evangeline," he repeated in his Fenrisian accent, and he felt his smile broaden.  
"Yes," she encouraged timidly, and looked up.  
"A fine and lovely name, suiting a fine and lovely lass."  
He watched her blush again, and though she stumbled through some platitude she didn't look away.  
"So then, Evangeline," he rumbled. "Ye never answered my first question."  
"I'm … sorry?" she said, her expression growing confused.  
He grinned at her, his fangs glinting in the starlight. "Did ye enjoy the show, Evangeline?" he asked her again, slowly.  
"Oh!" she said, lifting a hand to smooth back her hair. She peered at him searchingly for a moment, then color bloomed on her cheeks and she glanced away, like a guilty child. "I'm not sure how I should answer that."  
"Honesty would be a good start."  
"It wasn't meant as a performance, was it?" she asked.  
"No, it wasn't," he confirmed. "But that didn't stop it from turning into one, did it?" He reached out to cup her chin again. "That's no answer, Sister of the Argent Shroud."

"I enjoyed watching you very much," she said, her eyes darting away from his again. "But I'm sorry for intruding … I know you didn't invite me …"  
"I asked for no apology from ye, Evangeline," the Deathwatch marine said, his tone as gentle as his voice was rough. "Ye need not fear me, lass," he said a moment later.  
"I'm not afraid of you!" she said, defiance in her tone and in the haughty jut of her chin as she lifted it to regard him down her nose, the long fringe of her lashes casting her eyes in shadow.  
His brow shot up in surprise, and the Space Wolf laughed. "That's good," he said. "Only the foes of the Imperium need to fear the Astartes."

He let go of her chin and fingered the crimson lining of her hood a moment. "Yer a member of the Hospitallers, Evangeline?"  
"No, not exactly," she said, wavering."The Hospitallers are … separate? They're a noncombatant order, and I'm … not." She pondered a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm more like Apothecary Martel," she decided.  
He couldn't help but smile at that, between the comparison to his Black Templar squadmate and her infectious good cheer. "I see," he said. "Well then, Evangeline," he continued, rising to his feet and taking a step back so that he didn't loom over her, "the hour grows late." He turned his head skyward to see the blanket of stars spreading above them. "'Tis time for us to depart this place. Come," he said, gesturing with his empty left hand. "I'll escort ye back to the Bastion."  
"I'd like that," she said, drawing abreast of him and letting him herd her out of the ruin. "Why did you come here, anyway?" she asked.  
"Why did you?" he replied.  
"I was investigating suspicious activity outside the Bastion," she said with surprising confidence as they descended the steps. "The Tau were still trying to put down the rioters that hit them when we landed, and I didn't think they'd dispatch you alone. I should report you to Inquisitor Tolstoyevsky," she teased.  
"Dostoyevsky, lass," he corrected gently.

"I suppose I'm in trouble now?"  
"Not if you answer  _my_  question," she said. "Why did you come to the church?" Evangeline glanced back at its ruin, then over at the hulking Space Wolf. "I don't think it was for tumbling practice … I usually prefer the gymnasium or the bar."  
He answered her with silence, and a somber expression overtook his smile. "There were two reasons," he said at last. "Neither of which I would speak to ye where the ears of others might hear them." He nodded briefly at the Bastion as they walked along its outer walls toward a security cordon, looking over to see her expression grown serious.  
She stopped, gradually, those doe eyes fixed upon his face. "If you wish to tell me," she said in a grave tone, "I will listen."

He nodded, and beckoned her forward, turning to precede her through the checkpoint. He bulled his way through with scarcely a glance and nary a word, and the Sister slipped into his wake on fleet feet. "Was a time I could pitch a tent here and be left alone," he groused as he ducked through a service door into the armory, keying an entry code to a room that might once have been meant for storage.  
It had been converted to some semblance of living quarters with the addition of a set of shelves, equipment and armor racks, and a broad bed large enough for four or five men.  
He parted from her side to approach the metal-wrought rack, turning toward her and disengaging the seals on his jump pack. He bent his knees until the weight slid from his back with a groan, and the Space Wolf moved to begin disengaging his armor.

"May I help?" Evangeline asked, hands folded nervously before her.  
He opened his mouth to refuse her out of hand, then seemed to think better of it. He smiled slightly and offered up a small nod: "If ye would," he said, using his unarmed hand to disengage the Shadowclaw and set it upon a low-set table beside the armor rack.

Her approach was hesitant as he disarmed. The Sororita seemed to study him as she approached—no, not him, his armor—and then the crease in her brow eased and she began to help him remove the black-painted plates. The litanies were in High Gothic: not the Fenrisian chants of the Space Wolves' serfs, but the canticles of a Battle Sister, and her tone was sing-song and pleasant.

"Were ye briefed on the events of the war before ye and yer Sisters made planetfall, Evangeline?" he asked, and she nodded, turning away to help replace the blackened ceramite upon the armor rack.  
"Yes," she said in the breaths between litanies. "Well … Inquisitor Baldwin relayed your message, the one you sent all those weeks ago, and Inquisitor Tolstoy—no—" she broke off to correct herself, " _Do_ stoyevsky … provided some updates …" Her hands were delicate and pale against the black metal, surprising in their deftness. They were soft hands, such as he had not seen often in his lifetime. "Most of them were about the heretic Adrian Jeong, who I am told met his rightful demise not the moment we touched soil here." She went still, looking up into his face. "Is there something I ought to know, Lord Firemane?"  
"Adrian Jeong was a rogue trader, Evangeline," he said, turning to aid her with the task of setting his armor to rights upon the rack. She handled the ceramite with aplomb, hidden strength in her lissome form. "With a rogue trader comes his crew," he said somberly; "Thousands, tens of thousands of human souls. A twisted lot, lass," he said, pausing as she pulled at the maglocks to his breastplate. He watched her look upon him, stripped to the waist, her eyes drawn to the glittering sockets of the Black Carapace, and he turned away.

"Yes, they're making quite the mess, aren't they?" she wondered. "Parts of the city were still burning at sunset …"  
"Heretic or not, Adrian Jeong sold his life in payment for my own, my battle-brothers', and my … friend … Commissar Faulkner."

He was reaching for a black tunic to pull it over his head, but the whisper of cloth did not subsume the little cry of indrawn breath from the Sororita, his nostrils flaring as something changed in her scent.  
"Um," she began. "If you don't mind my asking …" He glanced back toward her to find that she had modestly turned away as he dressed, and he shook out his russet braids. "You went to church for him? I was told he was Untouchable."  
"Not for him," he said, removing his greaves and stepping quickly into his canvas leggings, his feet bare upon the cool floor. "I carried his remains from our field of battle, and found his people waiting for us outside.  
"I saw wrath in their eyes, Evangeline, and also despair, but most of all—more than either—a terrible blame. Blame for me, blame for the Inquisitor, but more than that, blame for all the Imperium. Ye cannot imagine it, Evangeline," he said, his eyes settling upon her back as he slumped to sit at the foot of his bed. She loosed her white cloak and folded it carefully over the arm of a nearby chair before she turned to regard him, blinking.  
"He had no heir?" she wondered. "Were they not content to continue in service to their dynasty?"

Torin shook his head, burying his forehead in his hands briefly. "Ye cannot even imagine," he repeated, his voice soft and hoarse. "I walked out into that maddened crowd and I told them exactly what they wanted to hear. I faced down twenty-thousand men and told them they had no place in the Imperium of Man; they had no purpose now but to take their vengeance 'pon the aliens who'd slain their leader." He lifted his head to regard her and found she had approached on quiet feet, a wary hand outstretched. "Twenty thousand people I as well as condemned to death," he said, shaking his head. "Allfather forgive me, I pray I'll never have to do the like again."

The Sister said nothing then, but her gentle hand alighted on his shoulder like a bird. He lifted his hand in return to touch her, all but covering her delicate fingers with his broad palm.  
"I was raised in th'belief that no life is without value," he said softly. "We each have our purpose in the Allfather's eyes, and that a hero's death is a treasure no man is too poor to buy, should he gather his courage and seek it."  
Her hand shifted beneath his, but she could not take his hand in her own, and instead wrapped her hand around two of his fingers. "You don't have to answer me, but … why did you do it?" the Sister asked. "You must have believed then there was some rightness in it … do you remember what you were thinking?"  
"I did it to protect my pack," he said with a sigh. "My brothers, the Inquisitor, the guardsmen … because I saw no other way of doing so." A shake of his head. "Still, I went against every code and credo I was trained to believe in. No, lass, I did not go to the church to mourn for Adrian Jeong. I went to learn if I still had the strength to serve the Allfather's purposes."

The blonde settled in upon the edge of the bed beside the Wolf, looking up into his stormy features. Her face was dark with the weight of concern. "So you went for expiation," she said, half to herself. "What did you find there? … Other than me," she added, trying to find a smile for him.  
He smiled back at her. "I found willingness," he replied. "To continue in my path, to continue serving Russ and the Allfather." He shifted his weight, settling his broad arm about her shoulders. The movement drew her against his side. "And I found a spying Sororita," he teased.  
She let go of his hand to drape her arm across his back, her free hand pressing against his ribcage with obvious curiosity. A moment later the confusion ebbed from her features, replaced by hot-faced embarrassment.

"Sorry," she squeaked, pulling her hand away as though she'd been scalded.  
"I asked ye for no apology," he said softly. She lifted her hand to touch the fused plates of bone beneath his skin with a chirurgeon's exploratory manner.  
"But you doubted yourself," she said a moment later.  
"Courage, as I was taught, is not the absence of fear but the overcoming of it," he said with a smile. "And faith is not the absence of doubt but belief even in the face of it." He nodded. "Aye, I doubted myself. Does that shock ye, Evangeline? That an Astartes might do such a thing?"  
"It seems a terribly  _human_  thing to do," she pointed out with an amused smile. "But it does not shock me, no … instead it comforts me to know that even an Astartes warrior may cast aspersions on his own decisions. I doubt you'll find that committed to scripture," she continued to muse, her fingers prodding at one of the fissures between the bones of his barrel chest.

"During the induction," he told her to satisfy her curious hands, "many changes are wrought within us. One of them is the fusing of the ribs into a solid sheath of bone to protect the organs within."  
"Maybe not  _so_  human after all," she found herself laughing. "If you are injured perhaps Apothecary Martel should be charged with your care. I do not think any of my sisters are familiar. I know the Guardsmen aren't."  
"Ye need not fret," he promised her. "Astartes heal well and quickly. 'Tis true we know our brothers best, there's more than one tale told among my chapter of brothers saved from death by a 'mere' mortal. If I know the Sisterhood, they would not entrust ye with your duties if your talents were not a match, and then some."  
"Have you worked with the Sororitas before?" she asked, expression brightening, hand resting calm against his chest. "I had thought it was … unusual … for Inquisitors to collaborate," she said.  
"Oh, it is," he agreed, lifting a hand to stroke his service stud. "But in my years as a Wolf, outside the Deathwatch, aye, I have."  
"That would make more sense," she agreed. Her hand twitched upward as though she meant to touch his face in turn, but in the end she swallowed the impulse. "Is it something you speak of much?"  
He favored her with a broad smile. "Aye, to those willing to listen. The telling and retelling of the chapter's histories—great and small, wondrous and tragic alike—is a great tradition amongst the Wolves of Fenris."  
"If you keep me here listening," she said, mischief alighting in her eyes, "then you know I am not informing on you to your commander."  
"Aye," he agreed, chuckling. "'Tis true."  
"Well … I'm willing to listen if you have tales to tell," she said, slipping out from under his arm and turning upon the bed, tucking one slippered foot up under the opposite leg.

"Alright then … so, ye desire a tale of my meetings with the Sisterhood," the marine said, and lifted a hand to rub his chin.  "The first time I saw the women of the Adeptas, I'd been a member of the Wolves for fourteen years," he begins.  "The Great Company of Alexei Frostborn been engaged for more than two years chasin' an ork flotilla 'cross the local sector east of Fenris.  We'd drop out of the warp, shoot down a ship'r two of theirs, drop down wherever they'd been makin' trouble and take off runnin' after the rest of 'em again."  The man lifted a hand, drawing a vague pattern in the air.  "Eighteen systems, we chased 'em through."  
"That seems a long pursuit," said Evangeline, lifting a hand to twist a lock of white-blonde hair about her finger.

"Aye, lass, it was.  A long hunt, and a patient one.  We kept 'em sprintin' from system to system so that they never had much chance to resupply their ships.  So, finally the day came we ran 'em down in the comet shoal of the last system what they had the fuel to jump to.  Dashed 'em against the rocks and saw 'em off with enough torpedo volleys t'make a tech-priest jealous," he said with a broad grin.  "Once 'twas all said and done, we turned our bows westward and started the long haul back t'Fenris.  We were runnin' low on our own supplies by then, ye understand, havin' been runnin' our own selves ragged t'keep the greenskins runnin' scared, and not t'mention the men were lookin' forward t'some leave after the long chase.  
"On our way home, we stopped a time or two t'take our bearings.  On the second stop we picked up a distress call from the world Kellis.  A shrineworld to the Allfather, quiet, beautiful, serene, pious.  Least it was 'til a raiding party'a the dark eldar decided t'wreck it.  From what we heard they were in it bad, the major cities gettin' raided sundown t'sunup, the xenos strikin' and fadin' into the night."  He smiled again, and his fangs flashed, this time in a decidedly vicious expression.  "Low on fuel, low on ammo, two years out from home, didn't matter none to the company.  Soon's we heard the word the men were bayin' to go draw blood.  So we turned our bows towards Kellis and made best speed.  Our navigators brought our ships in close as they dared before we dropped outta the warp.  Caught the dirty buggers by surprise, we did, pounced right on top of 'em with guns blazin'.  Knocked half their ships outta the sky in the first hour."  He chuckled to himself.  "Never knew what hit 'em."

Evangeline clapped her hands together in seeming delight, her pretty mouth curved upward into a smile. "They deserved worse, harrying a shrineworld," she opined. "And how went the battle after that?"  
He couldn't help a smile at her enthusiasm. "The escorts moved to start moppin' up the rest'a their ships while our cruisers dropped into the upper atmosphere t'hot drop the fightin' men onto the surface.  The raiders weren't expectin' us to come down in such numbers and we started huntin' 'em through the planet's forests."  A fanged grin.  "Well, the folks what'd been defendin' Kellis up 'til then decided they weren't gonna miss out on the fun.  A full convent of the Order of the Martyred Lady came scramblin' out to join the hunt.  'Tween the Sixth and the Sisterhood the xenos didn't have a chance in hell.  Best fighters I'd ever seen, the Sisters, outside the chapter of course," he said with a smirk.  
"And best you're likely to!" Evangeline said, a fierce glint of pride in her eyes. "When was this?" she asked on impulse.  
He paused to think about it, and blew out a soft breath. "A hundred and forty years ago? Give or take. Nothing's dared threaten Kellis since, far's I know."

The Sororita blinked. "Oh," she said softly.  
"Ye shoulda seen the capitol when it was all said and done.  The Wolves and the Sisters stood together in the central square before the basilica.  The Canoness offered thanks to the Sixths for our intervention, and our Wolf Lord gave praise to the Order for their steadfast defense of the planet before our arrival.  The cardinal of the world spoke mass in the open air and called on the Allfather to witness our victory.  Throne on Earth, the howls shook the air, the bells of the basilica rang nonstop for hours, men and women embraced … 'twas a sight fit to lift the bleakest heart, Evangeline." He reached out and gave her knee a gentle squeeze.  
She looked down at the massive paw and laid her hand atop his own. "Well," she said. "The way you describe it, I do wish I'd been there to see it. By the grace of the Emperor, may we celebrate as glorious a victory here."  
He turned his hand over and folded his fingers around her own. "Aye, Evangeline," he said, his voice softer, more earnest. "Allfather willing, so we shall."

She shifted atop the bed slightly, regarding him sidelong, and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry … I don't really have any interesting stories to tell in return, and I doubt if I would do half so well …"  
He chuckled gently, and reached across with his other hand to brush back her hair. "Tis no thing ye need t'apologize for, lass," he told her, tone kind. "Storytellin' isn't the only way a Fenrisian knows t'pass the time." He winked over at her.

She flushed deeply and stammered something incoherent, her gaze fleeing the Wolf's own to dart around the room. Still, she did not stand or lift her hand from his. "I, ah …" she began again, then seemed to lose the thread of her statement once more.  
"Sorry, lass," he chuckled, his tone unapologetic. "I didn't quite catch that."  
"Are you …" she began haltingly, still not daring his gaze again. "Um … making advances? That is …"  
"Tis what, lass?" he coaxed.  
"Are you  _propositioning_  me?" Sister Evangeline squeaked, voice barely more than a whisper.  
"Aye, Evangeline, so I am," said the Deathwatch Marine, and gave her hand a light squeeze.

As he looked upon her, the Sister's blush renewed with torrential force, and touched not just her cheeks, but her ears, much of the rest of her face, and what little he might see of her chest, given the modest neckline of her gown.  
"Oh," she murmured in surprise, her fingers tightening around his own. "Ah … I've never … I mean …"  
"Ye've never?" he coaxed, one brow quirked upward.  
"Well, I mean … with one of the Astartes, and …"  
"I'd be quite surprised if ye had!" He chuckled.

She took a deep breath, composing herself. "Yes," she said after a moment.  
"Is that a yes t'my question, then?"  
"I don't think you asked one, but … yes."

The Wolf smiled and reached out with his free hand. A calloused finger lifted her chin, and the man leaned toward her — over her, really — and bent down to kiss her. Her arm curled about his shoulders and she pulled herself up to meet him, their lips brushing gently against one another. His goatee tickled at her pale skin, and she giggled. Torin let go of her hand, curling his arm around her waist, and he pulled her in against his side. There she nestled happily, looking up into the Wolf's face. He could read her expression, and saw her eyes bright with nervous anticipation.

The hand at her chin descended to stroke her side and along the curve of her flank, gathering up the lustrous grey material. His paw slipped slipped beneath its folds and the froth of her petticoats, fingers trailing upward once more over the silk of her stockings. She kissed him, gently, and brushed his auburn braids back from his face.

"Are those fangs?" she asked.  
He grinned at her, letting her see the elongated canines. "One of the changes wrought by the geneseed of Russ," he said. "Ye need not fear 'em, lass. I've been a long time mastering 'em."  
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.  
"Good."

Her arms tightened around his neck as she leaned up to kiss either corner of his mouth, and then she unwound her limbs from around him to reach back and unbutton the gown at the nape of her neck, leaving the bodice sagging loosely.

He shrugged out of his dark tunic and caught her looking at him with naked, carnal interest. He reached out to cup her cheek, her eyes lingering upon his muscular form, and she reached out to touch his wolfshead tattoo, then the ring of metal sunken in at its eye, stroking the carapace plug with curious fingers.

He took the grey material of her gown in his hands, tugging at it lightly, and obligingly the Sister shrugged her arms out of her sleeves. His fingers passed over her skin, and felt her surprisingly solid with muscle for all her apparent delicacy. Her gown pooled about her waist, and she grasped its folds, pulling it up overhead and letting it fall aside. It slithered off the edge of the bed toward the floor, and she wriggled her way out of the diaphanous cloud of her petticoats.

The Sororita was clad yet in a white silken corset, with garters that held up her stockings. A silver chain was looped about her neck, and it bore a little locket engraved with a stag's head. As she twisted to kick off her petticoats, he saw the radiant skull of the Argent Shroud inked high upon her right flank. He grasped her by the hip as she moved, and he let out a low whistle.  
"Yer a beautiful woman, Evangeline," he said.  
"I am glad you find me so," she said, blushing, and he saw the way it touched not only her cheeks, but the arch of her collarbones and the swell of her breasts before her skin drowned in white lace. She reached up, slowly working loose her blonde hair.  
"Any man could hardly find ye otherwise," he told her, gathering her into his arms and pulling her into his lap, against the hard muscle of his chest. One hand joined hers to loose her hair, and he stroked its silken length down her back, his mouth lingering against her own.  
"I am glad that  _you_  find me so," she replied with careful enunciation, and wrapped her arms around his neck as her hair spilled free. Her body was soft and yielding against his own as he put her to her back, pressing her against the bed with his kisses. Her pale blonde hair fanned out behind her like a halo, his hand trailing over her body to grasp her leg. He could feel, as doubtless she felt as well, the heat of his member pressed against her thigh, and the downward flick of her gaze confirmed that notion a moment later.

He kissed her one last time, his mouth on her own, then lingering over her neck and the hollow of her throat, and at last he pulled away. His fingers found her garters, and began loosing them from her stockings with surprising delicacy. Obligingly, the Sororita lifted each leg in turn, propping her ankle against his shoulder so that he might unclip the back side as well. As his finger curled around the hem of her panties, she braced her elbows against the bed and arched, muscles in her legs tensing to lift her from the bed. He chuckled softly at the sight, fingers grazing over the curve of her backside as he peeled away that scrap of cloth. A moment later Evangeline relaxed back against the bed and let her legs down, kicking away the white silk and lifting a hand to beckon to the Wolf. He braced one hand above her shoulder, leaning over her to favor her with another gentle kiss, but she quenched her hands in auburn hair and pulled him fiercely against her mouth, her tongue delving between his lips to kiss him with wanton ardor. He pressed her into the bed with his body, returning her fervor with his own until, breathless, she broke from him, gasping against his flesh, inhaling the musky scent of his skin.

He shifted his weight and used his free hand to loose the waist of his leggings, kicking them away to the floor. The Sororita tucked her chin to look down at him as he stripped away this last piece of clothing. Evangeline gasped at the sight of him, her eyes snapping upward to meet his own, her lower lip trapped nervously between her teeth.

"Ye can still change yer mind, if ye wish it," Torin said.  
"I am not afraid of you," she told him for the third time that night, turning her head to kiss at his wrist. "…As long as you go slowly."  
"Alright then," he said, smiling down at her, and he laid himself down beside her, slipping one arm up under her body. The other stroked her inner thigh. His fingers crept from her knee upward over the sensitive flesh, retreating a moment later to leave her eyes lidded. He repeated this tease on the other side, leaning down to kiss at the corner of her mouth and turn her head to nip gently at her ear, mindful of the silvered earrings she wore. He could smell incense smoke in her hair and the beeswax of offertory candles, and the delicate musk of her pale skin as he allowed himself to explore the curve of her neck and shoulder, fangs grazing lightly against her skin. She arched and insinuated herself against the Fenrisian's hand, his blunted fingers probing her folds. She reached up to take a fistful of his hair and pulled his mouth to her own, kissing at him hungrily, her teeth raking his flesh in return. He could hear her heart beat against the cage of her chest like an excited songbird, one finger grazing against her clit. She gasped and was still, slowly opening her eyes to look up at him. He smiled, kissed the tip of her nose, and began to work one finger into her, stroking at her inner walls. Evangeline squirmed beneath him, clutching at his body, and for a moment she clamped her thighs around his hand by instinct, but a moment later she relaxed, and he rocked his hand shallowly against her, coaxing the tension from her body. In time, a second finger joined the first, Torin's thumb grazing the apex of her labia and stroking lightly at her clit, and when he felt her start to go tense in his arms again it was for an entirely different reason. He looked down at the blonde as he pleasured her, the Sororita writhing against his hand, and he grinned, craning his neck to nip at the swell of her breasts.  
"Torin," she mewled, and he kissed her again, her body arching against the bed. Her pussy clenched around him, and she spluttered for air, creamy skin gone flushed, dancer's muscles taut, and it was a long moment before she was still again.

"Alright?" he prompted her, nuzzling against her forehead.  
"Yes," she said, clumsily brushing back his hair. "Yes. I'm ready," she said, and he withdrew from her slowly, moving to kneel between her legs. He licked at his fingers, looking down at her, and then he grasped her thighs, wrenching her legs apart as he leaned over her. The base of his member ground up against her heated folds, the head of his cock pressed against the silk of her corset. She arched against his hold on her as though to elicit more solid contact, and the Sororita reached down to grasp one of his hands, giving him a gentle squeeze as though he needed to be encouraged.

He took hold of himself, his other hand at her hip as though to dampen her eagerness just enough to be safe as he set himself against her, gently parting her labia before he thrust into her.

She gasped, grasping at a handful of bedsheets as though for purchase, and he went still. Her breathing was erratic, almost panicky, for a moment. He watched her master herself even as he drew back by a fraction, and her sea-green eyes found his.

"Alright?" he asked again.  
"Yes," she said, and he shifted, pressing into the slick heat of her cunt. Slowly. He leaned over her and slipped his arms up under her body to cradle her against him as he moved. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging close to him as he rocked against her body. She cried out, and he could hear the whimper even as she bit it back,but as he moved to stroke her face she only nodded.

He nodded in reply, kissing at her brow to ease its furrow, and found her pale skin already dewy. Her mouth found his throat in return, kissing at him, the sensation light against his skin. The Wolf growled softly as he drew back, and he thrust came harder this time, the Space Marine opening her body to him. Evangeline whimpered, but there was no fear in it, and he pressed her down into the bed, into his body, as he continued to spear into her. The Wolf's cock bottomed out in her a moment later; the blunted head of his member brushed against her cervix and pressed an insensible cry from her.

"Torin," she moaned as her nails bit into his ruddy flesh. He went still, feeling her body beneath him, clad in silk; around him, hot and wet and almost unbearably tight. She kissed against his flesh: his neck, the hollow of his throat, his collarbones, her cries stifled against his body as her every movement wrung them from her. He began to move against her, to pull her against him, slowly, feeling the tension ebb from her body. His russet mane whispered against her flesh, his lips bowing around her name, and the Wolf at last found a steady rhythm. He bore down hard against her silk-wrapped frame, shifting so that he might kiss her again. He did so with ferocious intensity, and she matched him, tongue pressing past the delicate bow of her lips to enter his mouth, meeting his own as she probed curiously at his fangs. The Sororita braced herself against the bed, and Evangeline wrapped her arms around him so that she might meet his thrusts. The force of their coupling ripples through her body, each setting her pert breasts to jiggling. He gripped at her more tightly, and took her freely then. In spite of his mounting speed his every thrust bottomed out in her, and with his redoubled pace, Evangeline's pert breasts spilled from the confines of her corset, the taut nubs of her petal-pink nipples grazing at his chest.

He pawed at her eagerly, large hand dwarfing her frame as he fondled her, pressing her upper body back against the bed so that she bowed backward underneath him. The new angle wrung a gasp from Evangeline's pretty lips, and he grinned, craning his neck to nip at her soft flesh again. His body was warm against her own, but untouched by sweat. He inhaled deeply and found that she'd begun to smell like him.

"Evangeline," the Wolf growled, his voice a deep bass rumble.  
She managed little more than another incoherent whimper, one of her hands moving to her chest to press against the back of his own. He could see her tremble beneath him, and felt the tug on his scalp as her other hand fisted in his namesake hair.  
"Ye first," he growled in her ear, kissing the sweat from her brow.  
"Nmm-hmm," she whimpered in acquiescence, and turned her head to press her lips to his cheek. She pulled him in close, another shiver coursing through her small frame, and the slickness of her cunt tightened spasmodically around his shaft. She muted her whimpering on his skin, hungry kisses pressed to ruddy flesh.

With another growl the Wolf let himself go, clutching her body against his own. Ropes of seed painted her womb, spilling over to leak out from her folds and run down the cleft of her ass. The pair slumped against the bed a moment later. Evangeline lifted a hand to brush a few strands of blonde hair away where they'd stick to her forehead. Torin rolled to his side after a moment, pulling her with him to cradle her smaller body against his own.

"Yer a fine woman indeed, Evangeline," he told her, kissing gently at her brow. "I'd see ye again gladly."  
"Well," she said. "I guess you're lucky then … that I'm stationed here, I mean," she fumbled, then smiled.  
He stroked her hair, chuckling. "Aye, so I am."

She settled in against his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat seemed to relax her for a moment or two before the Sister turned her face upward. Her expression was one of consternation.  
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked.  
"Aye," he said, a touch confused. "Aye, I am. Why?"  
"You sound like …" she trailed off, pressing her cheek to his chest. She squinted up at him, and he laughed.

He moved to gently cradle his head against her chest, then took her hand and pressed it to a point just below his breastbone, so that she could feel the distinctive thud of his two hearts as they beat asynchronously.

"…Oh," she murmured, clearly embarrassed, and a moment later she giggled, relief washing over her. "It sounded like …" she began, dissolving into giggles again.  
"Like my heart was fit to burst, eh?" he said, smiling back at her. "Have no fear, Evangeline. I am not so fragile a thing as to be broken by this."  
"I'll keep it in mind," she murmured, nestling closer to his chest. Again she touched one of the plugs in his flesh, and the Sister stifled a yawn.  
"Stay til morning," the Wolf of Fenris said.  
"I'll stay til dawn," she promised, "and then I'll pray for your victory."  
"Aye, alright," he said softly, gathering her to him and rolling to his back so that she could curl up atop him. He stroked the silken length of her blonde hair, and she let the rise and fall of his breathing rock her to sleep, and Torin Firemane thanked the Emperor for the Adepta Sororitas.

 


End file.
